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Theorising in Progress - An ethical journey: Rights, relationships and reflexivity (free full-text available) |
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Jane Bone
Auckland University of Technology
In this paper the process of approaching three different early childhood settings with the same consent forms is discussed. In each setting ethical procedures were viewed differently. This formed a journey of discovery and provided an opportunity to reconceptualise the ethical process. While it is always the responsibility of the researcher to conduct research in an ethical way, the field of early childhood education offers specific challenges. In this research it became obvious that perspectives on ethics include rights, relationships and reflexivity. The importance of including teachers and parents in this process is acknowledged. The consent form for children is described and, as it becomes a focus of negotiation, its influence on the attitude of the researcher becomes a narrative of ethical encounter.
‘…we deliberate not about Ends, but Means to Ends' (Aristotle, 1947, p. 52).
The use of early childhood settings as sites for research means that the ethical practices of those who conduct research become available for scrutiny (Aubrey, David, Godfrey & Thompson, 2000). However, everyone involved in these settings has a role in the research process: the children and parents, teachers, managers, gatekeepers, and researchers. Researchers may also have obligations to their institutions, the funding body, or the Ministry of Education. The involvement of so many people in this web of relationships means there is an increased emphasis on ethical practices. In Australia and Aotearoa/New Zealand there is continued work on codes of ethics for educators (Hedges, 2001; Kennedy, 2001) and discussion of ethical practices from cultural and philosophical perspectives (Moss, 2001; Smith, 1999). The idea that children will be automatically available as suitable subjects for research is an assumption that has been questioned (Cannella, 2002; Christensen & James 2000; Fasoli, 2003). The journey with my consent form for children included rights, the ‘relationship paradigm' (King, Henderson & Stein, 1999, p. 14) and questions about my own position as researcher. The power of the reflexive stance to provoke more questions than answers is evident in this account.
Garbarino discusses the adult orientation or ‘position' in relation to the research process and children. He says that useful ethical thinking concerns the questions ‘What rights do children have to privacy? To authority? To respect?' (Garbarino, Scott & Faculty of the Erikson Institute, 1992, p. 16). In terms of rights, The United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child contains Articles which uphold the right of the child to express views freely (Article 12) and to have freedom of expression (Article 13). The document also upholds the rights of parents to provide direction to children (Article 14) (UNCROC).
My research, about spirituality in early childhood settings, is firmly qualitative, and recognisably a sensitive topic to research (Lee, 1993). Spirituality has proved to be a field that draws strong reactions, and negotiating what, where and how has been a long process. As Coady (2001) points out, there are issues about informed consent, deception, confidentiality and privacy in any research. My decision to invite children to respond to a consent form seemed logical, but reaction to this form for children has proved to be a focus for changes in my own thinking and a place for continuing dialogue with parents and teachers.
It became obvious early in the research process that the ethics procedures are an essential point from which to begin but that rather a lot of information, beyond the official forms themselves, is then shared and extended in conversation with everyone involved in the research. One of the requirements found to be essential and which was discussed constantly in one of the centres was that of ‘transparency'. To be transparent is to be ‘easily seen through, evident, obvious, easily understood, free from disguise' (The Concise Oxford Dictionary). Arriving at a centre with a bunch of forms is not good enough. Being transparent involved talking, discussing and explaining, and not just to a parent group but to parents individually, especially if they had concerns about the research. Sometimes the line between being transparent and not being respectful of the research became rather fine and questions proliferated. When was something transparent? What if the requirement for transparency then jeopardised the project? When did transparency challenge notions of privacy and confidentiality? In the discussions that ensued from these questions new meanings were shared and relationships strengthened. The wish to conduct research with the best intentions might seem obvious, but tension lies in remaining aware that best intentions do not guarantee an ethical approach.
The negotiation of ethics procedures took place in three different settings, and the data collection included photographs and use of a video camera. The consent form for children gave information about the nature of the research, about myself as researcher, and involved parents. When questions were asked this was followed by space for the children to circle around the words:
Happy Fine Not sure Worried.
The consent form included a statement that said ‘I am finding out about spirituality—you might like to find out about this as well. I am not sure how to explain the word spirituality to you. Spirituality might be something you feel, it might be something you do or see …'. I was clear from the beginning about not-knowing and this was not a case of withholding information, it was an attempt at being honest and acknowledged not-knowing as my starting point. The qualitative paradigm is about sharing emergent meanings, not proving hypotheses, and the consent form was clear about this.
Attention to transparency also ensured that the partnership between parents and the centre was respected and where possible enhanced. The involvement of parents was essential. The consent form for children included a request for parents to read it to their child, and there was a space for the child to sign their name (if they wanted to) and a space for parents to sign. The fact that parents were invited to share the consent process with their child provided reassurance and many parents said they appreciated this.
A feature of the consent form that I hope showed some reciprocity was the inclusion of my photograph. This helped children get to know me, and somehow the interactions changed after parents and children had taken the consent form home and looked at the photo and talked about what I was doing. I became someone who could be told stories or shown things from home. This was something that got me over the ‘spare part' stage: the initial uncertainty involved in joining the centre experienced by Sumsion (2003), who described the complexity of beginning to interact with children as a researcher. The feeling of being included in the life of the centre increased after several children told me that they ‘knew' me because of the photograph.
The information sheet requested permission to gather visual data, to take photographs and to use a video camera. Parents shared with me their concern about visual images of their children and showed that they were worried about the possibility of misuse of photographs or videos. Internet communication and ease of sharing information has made parents more aware of these dangers, and so they were reassured to know that gaining ethical approval involved addressing issues of storage and that data would eventually be destroyed. A number of parents said ‘you never know …' and showed that this was a concern as well as something they were not sure about but they needed to feel safe and discuss all possibilities.
Children were asked if they wished to be involved in the making of a video. And did they mind having photographs taken? The consent form made clear that children could change their minds, especially about being included on the video. When one of the videos was shown to parents there was a comment that it would be great to have a hidden camera because children were aware of being filmed. This again gave an opportunity to discuss ethical issues, and an enquiry about how the parent would feel about a hidden camera in a changing room was enough to raise a shriek of protest. We then talked about children and their familiarity with visual means of collecting data and the use of the camera in that centre.
In these discussions new meanings were constructed and decisions were made together rather than relying on external forces. It is not enough to rely on external documents and institutions to provide guidance about specific practices. For instance, it is becoming obvious to researchers in early childhood settings that the guidance provided by a code of ethics or by an institution in the form of an Ethics Committee might not be enough (Hedges, 2002). As a student and an employee, my ethics application had approval from two committees. My own institution welcomed the opportunity to look at a consent form for children and acknowledged that this was something they had not encountered before. These are steps on the journey towards a ‘culture of ethics' in early childhood research that will support the endeavours of researchers who wish to include young children in educational research.
Conversely, relying on personal integrity as the only approach to ethics would not be possible because, as Singer (1993) points out, if self-interest is involved there must be safeguards. Singer (1993, p. 35) discusses the work of Naroll who proposed the idea of utilising ‘moralnets'. A moralnet includes ‘family and community connections that tie people together and provide an ethical background to what each individual does'. Pressure from within the early childhood community and from teachers and families who participate in early childhood education will ensure that all researchers attend to ethical processes with children.
Making ethical choices which break new ground is essential when researching a relatively new field, or researching something familiar in a new and ethically responsible way. In this research it became clear that the ethical process benefited from a sense of personal involvement in early childhood education. As Coombe and Newman (1997, p. 48) say, ‘what constitutes ethical behaviour is context-specific', and this was certainly the case in the three settings where the consent form for children was presented.
The whole idea of having such a form was greeted with enthusiasm by the centre owner and teachers in the first setting, a Montessori school. The parents of the children said they enjoyed this aspect of the research and felt very involved with it. I left a post box at the entrance to the centre, children posted back their completed forms, and I emptied it and then dealt with queries and concerns. The influence of Reggio Emilia was also evident in this centre, with children and parents involved in the setting as part of a ‘community of learners', and I became part of that community. So far the journey was proving to be smooth going, and so successful was the procedure at this centre that I repeated it at the next one, expecting the same response.
The philosophy of the second centre is based on the holistic principles of Te Whāriki, the New Zealand early childhood curriculum (Ministry of Education, 1996). The consent form for children was accepted as part of the process, and ethics procedures were very much my concern rather than a centre issue. The post box was popular as it reduced teacher involvement, and the children liked it so much it stayed there. This experience prompted me to reflect on the differences in each setting. In this centre the question of whether interest in ethical procedures and consent issues was shared by all research participants, and whose interests were being served stayed just below the surface. Knight, Bentley, Norton and Dixon (2004, p. 391) note that negotiations around consent forms can become ‘invisible, muted, and inconsequential'. This erasure is helped by the need to move on with the research process. Moments of discomfort or uncertainty when travelling can be left behind when the journey continues, and I had made a connection with another centre and was keen to move on and begin negotiations in the third setting.
In the third and final case study my thinking about ethics and young children was challenged by the reception of my ethics plans when I outlined them. Far from being greeted with enthusiasm, there was a marked coolness when we discussed the fact that children would have their own consent form to sign. This teacher in a Waldorf (Steiner) kindergarten said that in this context she is ‘at her most adult' and that means taking responsibility for what happens there. She feels that parents completely trust her with their children and that she is therefore the final arbiter in what happens in her classroom. In common with the other centres, it was clear that if she decided to support the study the parents would agree. In her view it was not acceptable for children to be aware of my research plans as they belong to the adult world, and children come to her kindergarten as children and she creates and maintains that space for them. When I mentioned that in other centres the children had even encouraged their parents to return the forms and post them in the box she did not see this as a bonus. In fact it supported her views in a way I had not intended, and it became obvious that my plans exemplified the kind of role-reversed relationships that Steiner philosophy finds problematic. In this context there is a consciousness that making decisions on behalf of the child is ethical practice; the teacher must be prepared to take this responsibility and recognise that in Steiner education ‘there is the greatest call from the child for the deepest moral forces in the adult, for the qualities of mercy, of reverence' (Edmunds, 1992, p. 34). Our dialogue and my decision to ‘go with the flow' became a turning point in that I realised how much power and control was embedded in the process of gaining consent and ethical approval in each setting. Knight et al. (2004, p. 402) argue that establishing trust and credibility in different contexts is challenging, and in their exploration of consent forms they note the possibility of ‘conflicting narratives' within communities where research takes place. The ‘conflicting narratives' (Knight et al., 2004, p. 402) in this context forced me to slow down and re-evaluate my position. I accepted that in this setting the struggle for mutual understanding would define my relationships and that the essential factor in our continuing to travel together was trust.
The wish to collaborate and build relationships constructs what Guillemin and Gillam (2004, p. 265) call ‘ethically important moments'. Honouring the differences in each setting while acknowledging my own research agenda was sometimes a difficult balance. The process of questioning my own stance recognises the reflexivity that Guillemin and Gillam (2004, p. 274) say ‘saturates every stage of the research', and this includes ethical processes. I wondered, as I drove away from meetings: Where do I stand? Have I promised too much? Is there room for me and my questions? Will my passion be shared? With this final question I was driven back to the heart of my research with its ambiguities and uncertainties.
I valued my relationships in this centre and had to let go of the short-lived but powerful thought that somehow my consent form for children was inclusive and irresistible. Complacency must be recognised as dangerous, and occupying a comfortable place is not taking risks or engaging with the power relations embedded in relationships which are not fixed but ‘mobile, reversible, and unstable' (Foucault, 1994, p. 292). The sensation of being on shifting ground is part of the journey. An effective and ethical researcher is necessarily ‘part of a changing social system. They are obliged not only to abide by the ethical principles so far discussed but to attend to the evolving understanding of these principles in a particular society at a particular time' (Snook, 2003, p. 165). Ethical processes highlight tensions within communities as research procedures intersect with the multiple voices that constitute early childhood education.
The question of whose voice is listened to, who feels that they can speak, and who stays silent is something that causes me disquiet (MacNaughton, 2003; Viruru, 2002).
I wondered what happened to my voice in the official language of the ethics forms. It was really a process which had to be personalised and, ironically because the institutions dealing with my ethics application were not familiar with consent forms for children, this consent form remained ‘user friendly': it was constructed as a booklet, included a photograph and gave opportunities for children to revisit their decisions. The Information Sheet had to be changed because the language was not ‘official' enough for the ethics committee. This is not a criticism but an acknowledgement that the paperwork demanded by the ethics committee of the university is essential but also formal and different from the usual newsletters and notices sent home to parents. Knight et al. (2004) discuss the problematic nature of language that may satisfy the ethics committee but not the community who may be involved in the research. Different attitudes to the procedures gave me a sense of destabilisation. I questioned whose voice was being privileged in the process of constructing the consent forms. Was it the ethics committee, my own, children, teachers, or parents?
Laughter has balanced the seriousness of some of these ethical considerations. The children greeted the arrival of the post box for their completed forms with enjoyment. They filled in their consent forms with gold felts and glitter pens, others scribbled, some did thoughtful circles. Many parents said they had enjoyed reading the form to their children and noting their responses. One child came in the day after completing his form to tell me a long and complex ghost story. He enthralled us all before beginning to laugh—he obviously found the whole business of investigating spirituality a bit of a joke.
In recognising that everyone is free to react in their own way, power relations are engaged that recognise ‘the possibility of resistance' (Foucault, 1994, p. 292). While this may seem chaotic and dangerous, it is in fact the reverse. Learning to love the ‘creative chaos' (Mulligan, 2001, p. 141) which ensues at these moments when such shifts happen between people is critical to the process. Such moments subvert the wish to separate and compartmentalise. At times the relational triumphed over the rational, and, according to Mulligan (2001, p. 141), ‘In making applied ethical decisions we frequently draw from conscious and unconscious experience to do what we “feel” will be right for ourselves and other people (i.e., we use intuition).'
In retrospect it is obvious that being given a set of instructions and filling in boxes for an ethics committee is the easy part. Taking my forms travelling was the test, and my reflections about this process, which is ongoing, simply acknowledges the twists and turns that make the journey so absorbing. The process of moving beyond a reliance on ethics codes or institutional requirements has involved a ‘repersonalising of morality' (Bauman, in Moss & Petrie, 2002, p. 45) and an acceptance that ethical responsibility does not have fixed boundaries. Recognition of this has made it possible to stay on the road while making ethical decisions, while accepting responsibility for the process, while grappling with uncertainty, and making and maintaining relationships with everyone involved in the research.
Acknowledgements
Acknowledgement is due to my supervisors, Joy Cullen and Judith Loveridge, to the ethics committee of Massey University (MUHEC), and to Ngamaru Raerino and the ethics committee at Auckland University of Technology (AUTEC). Please email if you would like a copy of the consent form for children: jane.bone@aut.ac.nz.
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Last Updated ( Monday, 08 October 2007 )
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